Author, Freelance Writer and Editor

An
empathic whisper of rage and violence brushed past Annalasa as she galloped her
horse across the meadow—a glimpse into a tainted soul, and then the Impression was
gone. Annalasa pulled on the reins and
whirled around, surveying the grassy expanse.
The edge of the Tallis Forest stretched out along the far side. She could sense
something watching her from the shadows of the tree line. She unstrapped her bow from the saddle and
urged her mare toward the woods.
Whatever this creature was, it didn’t belong here. Especially
this close to her father’s estates.

Nearing the trees, she found a large patch of grass that was flat
and matted down. A half-eaten deer carcass lay
nearby where claws had scratched deep grooves into the soil. She reined in her horse and dismounted,
jumping lithely to the ground. Bending
down, she touched her palm to the flattened grass. Still
warm.

A
pair of large paw prints led into the forest.

Annalasa
glanced across the meadow to where the Shadowsong Manor stood in the distance,
its silver spires glinting in the sun.
She was in no hurry to return home.
Seeking out the identity of this interloper should prove to be an
exciting distraction. She pulled her
hair back into a loose knot and slung a quiver full of red-fletched arrows over
her shoulder. “Stay here, Vashni,” she said, reaching up
to scratch her horse’s ears. “It might
be dangerous.”

The
white mare shook her mane and nudged Annalasa’s
shoulder.

“Wait here until I whistle for
you." She gave her horse a final
pat before turning away and stepping into the forest.

The
fresh tracks wended through the woods in a southeasterly direction. The recent rain made the prints distinct and
easy to follow. A second set of paw
prints approached from the west to join with the first—side by side. Annalasa carefully picked her way across the
forest floor, maneuvering around tree trunks, stepping over shrubs and gnarled
tree roots, and ducking under low hanging branches. She moved with stealth, her knee-high leather
boots scarcely making a sound.

She
was happiest when she was outdoors and surrounded by nature. The cold, sterile walls of the Shadowsong
Manor suffocated her. Though she loved
her father, she found the aristocratic atmosphere that surrounded him to be
tedious and stifling. As the Lord
Governor of the Tir’Lothrian
province, he spent most of his time in the Meeting Hall with the Assembly of
Elders, discussing taxes or trade or some other boring matter. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw
her father step outside the manor to enjoy some fresh air and sunshine.

About
a half-mile into the hunt, Annalasa lost the trail. The trees were thicker in this part of the
forest and the ground dryer, making the tracks more difficult to discern. After several minutes of fruitless searching,
the accustomed chatter and buzz of the forest grew quiet. A yellow-bellied squirrel chirped from the
branch of a tree, as if warning her of danger.
A jaybird squawked in alarm as it flew overhead. Annalasa slid an arrow from her quiver,
nocked it, and pulled back the bowstring.
She knew she was being watched.
She turned in a slow circle, carefully scanning her surroundings. A chill slid down her spine. A twig snapped and she spun around, pointing
her weapon toward the nearby shrubbery.

She
crouched low to the ground, every sense focused and alert, but she could hear
nothing except her quickening heartbeat.
She took in slow breaths, keeping herself calm and poised, pushing all
fear out of her mind. She was confident
in her skill with a bow. Roquenn was the
best weapons instructor in the entire kingdom and he had taught her well.

A
deep growl rumbled from the bushes in front of her. She peered into the shadows between the leafy
sprigs, and a creature with dark fur and yellow eyes met her gaze. Annalasa aimed her bow with precision and
stepped backwards, putting as much distance as possible between herself and her
foe.

The
creature shook itself free of the dense vegetation, revealing its oversized
paws and then its large wolfish body.
Annalasa drew in a breath of surprise.
A saberwolf! She knew of the great wolves but had
never encountered one. They made their
home in the Kothundr Mountains, far to the south. What was it doing here?

The
saberwolf crept forward, cautious step by cautious step. Its head was low to the ground, ears pinned
back and pupils dilated. The hair stood
up along its shoulder blades and down its back.

Annalasa
kept her arrow pointed at the beast’s
skull. “Do not move any closer!”

The
wolf halted in mid-stride, understanding flashing in its eyes. Its lips curled back in a snarl revealing
sharp, deadly fangs. Saliva dampened its
broad muzzle. The hatred emanating from
the beast’s mind was so intense
she didn’t need her empathic abilitiesto feel it wash over her.

"I don't want to kill you," she continued, taking
another step back. "Leave this
forest and return to your caves in Kothundr.
You don’t—”

The
saberwolf sprang forward, jaws open and eyes fixed on her throat. Annalasa released her arrow and immediately
nocked and loosed another as the lifeless creature slammed into her. Its momentum pushed her backwards and knocked
her to the ground. Her bow landed in the
dirt an arm-span away.

Before
she could shove the dead beast off of her, black fur rushed at her and clamped
onto her leg, shaking it violently. Dragon’s oath!
She
forgot about the second wolf!

The
soft material of her riding skirt offered little protection against the
saberwolf’s jagged teeth and she cried out as pain
seared up her thigh. Her vision darkened
and her stomach roiled, and for a moment, she feared she might faint. Think! Focus!
Gasping
for breath, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and gripped it tightly near the
top of the shaft. With as much force as
she could muster, she thrust the metal tip into the creature's soft
flanks. The wolf yelped, released her
leg, and retreated backward a few steps, baring its teeth.

Encumbered
by the carcass crushing her torso, she twisted around and reached across the
ground for her bow. Pain incinerated her
leg, catching her breath in her throat.
Gritting her teeth, she strained until the weapon was firmly in her
hand. But the sabrewolf fled into the
woods before she could nock another arrow.

Exhaustion
gripped her as she struggled to roll the dead wolf off her hip. Blood seeped from the gaping wound on her
leg, staining her clothing and robbing her of strength. She sat up and whistled for her horse,
wondering if she’d even be
able to climb into the saddle. She
pulled her injured leg closer to her body, the pain disorienting. She closed her eyes until the forest stopped
spinning.

Footsteps
pounded up the trail behind her, much too soon to be Vashni. Annalasa snapped her head around as a man on
a black horse came into view. He wore a
dark cloak with a hood partially obscuring his face so it was the horse she
recognized first. “Roquenn!”
She breathed a sigh of relief.

Concern
crossed his face when he saw the bloody scene before him. He slid off the saddle and ran to Annalasa,
pulling open his cloak and tearing a strip of material off the bottom of his
tunic. He wrapped the strip around her
mid-thigh and tied it snug. "That
should stop the blood flow," he said, pushing back his hood. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out
a handful of dried herbs, a small metal dish and a canteen of water.

Annalasa
watched him as he mixed the herbs with the water and poured the green mixture
into her leg wound. It stung, and she
bit her lip to keep quiet.

Roquenn
stretched out both palms above the herbal poultice, closed his eyes, and
whispered an incantation. A bright blue
orb of light formed beneath his hands and descended onto Annalasa's thigh. Her leg tingled as a warm sensation spread
out from the center of the wound, gradually enveloping her entire body. The pain and throbbing subsided. The torn flesh began to knit together,
replacing the bloody gash with a pink, swollen scar.

The
orb disappeared and Roquenn opened his eyes.
"How does it feel?"

“Much better.” She tentatively stretched her legs out in
front of her. The injured muscles were
still tight, but she felt no pain.
"Thank you, Roquenn. I know
that required a lot of energy."

He
removed the tourniquet and plopped down on the hard ground. "I have several hours of travel ahead of
me. I didn’t
want to use up my stamina on a complete healing, but what I did should
suffice." He motioned toward the
dead saberwolf lying nearby. "Are
you going to tell me what happened here?
I saw the sabrewolf tracks but I didn’t expect to find you entangled in this.”

"I
saw strange paw prints leading into the forest so I followed them to see what
they belonged to." Annalasa pulled
her legs into her chest and grimaced at the soreness in her knee joint. "They must have caught my scent and
circled around behind me."

"How
many were there?"

"Two. The other one ran off after I wounded
it."

Roquenn
glanced around. "And where is your
horse?"

"I
whistled for her. She should be here
soon. I left her in the meadow so she
wouldn’t be in danger—don’t give me that
look. I was fine!" Annalasa scowled at her weapons
instructor. "You have praised my
bow skill on numerous occasions."

"You
were not fine,” he retorted. “You were about to swoon from loss of
blood. What would you have done had I
not arrived?"

Annalasa
huffed and stared miserably at the ground.

"Yes,
you are skilled with a bow," he continued, “but
saberwolves are intelligent animals, Annalasa.
You were foolish to track them by yourself."

"I
didn't know they were saberwolf tracks.
They shouldn't be roaming around this part of the kingdom."

Roquenn
looked thoughtful.

Annalasa
rested her chin on her knees and watched Roquenn’s
black gelding swat his tail at a persistent fly. She shifted her gaze back to Roquenn. “You mentioned travel. Where are you going?”

"I
have some business to attend to in Faewynne."

"You’re going to Azurevale?" She looked at him sideways. Azurevale was the smallest province in the
kingdom, consisting mostly of small towns and farmland. "What business could you possibly have
there?”

“The time has come for me to
honor a promise I made to an old friend.”

“A promise?”

“You will understand soon
enough. Everything is about to change,
Annalasa.” His face was an unreadable
mask. “There is unrest in the air. The presence of saberwolves only confirms it.”

Annalasa rolled her eyes.
"I think you enjoy speaking in riddles."

Vashni's
shrill whinny let the small group know she was approaching. The gelding lifted his head and returned the
friendly greeting. The mare bounded
through the brush, stopped short of Annalasa and snorted in disgust at the dead
saberwolf.

Roquenn
stood and gathered up his healing supplies.
"Are you able to ride?"
He held out his hand to pull Annalasa to her feet.

"I
think so,” she said, collecting her quiver and
bow. Her skirt was badly torn and the
exposed skin covered with dried blood, but her injured leg was strong enough
for her to take a few careful steps.

Roquenn helped her into the saddle before climbing into his
own. “Be safe,
Annalasa.” He pulled his hood up,
wheeled his gelding around and galloped away, leaving her alone in the quiet
forest.

* * *

Evening
was fast approaching. Brydon was
preparing to close up the shop when a man wearing a dark brown cloak pushed
open the door and slipped inside. Though
his hood partially obscured his face, the man’s
narrow features exposed his Lothrian ancestry.
Brydon watched him as his eyes darted around, scanning the shelves of
merchandise. The Lothrians kept to
themselves and were rarely seen outside of their own province. What was this man doing in a small town like
Faewynne?

The
man caught Brydon’s curious
stare and started toward him, green eyes boring into him as he approached.

“Brydon,” the stranger spoke in a low
voice. “Your father wanted me to give
this to you today.” He shoved a small
leather-bound package into the pocket on Brydon’s tunic. “Open it in private and tell no one.”

Brydon
furrowed his brow. “Are you talking about Sidd? He’s not my father—”

“No,” the man hissed. “I said your father.” He turned abruptly and hastened to the front
of the shop.

Brydon's
jaw dropped. He had always believed his
parents were dead—killed in the Great War when he was a child. His heartbeat quickened. Could they really be alive?

"Wait
a minute!" Brydon called out, but
the Lothrian stepped through the shop door and closed it behind him without
looking back.

Brydon
raced outside and caught up to the hooded stranger on the cobblestone street
out front. "How do you know my
father?" he demanded. A hundred
questions pummeled his mind. "Who
is he? Is he still alive?"

“I have to leave now.”

Brydon
kept pace with him. “But you said—”

The
man stopped and turned to face Brydon, grabbing him roughly by the collar of
his tunic. "It is not safe to talk
about this here," he growled. He
released Brydon and shoved him hard in the chest, knocking him off
balance. Brydon toppled backwards and
landed on his rear as the mysterious man turned a corner and disappeared.

A
maelstrom raged inside Brydon as he tried to process everything the Lothrian
had said. And how did the stranger know
who he was? He couldn’t recall ever seeing him before. Brydon reached into his tunic pocket. What could possibly be in the package that
required it to be opened in private?

Brydon
glanced up into the concerned face of Tarnell Riley, a wealthy wool trader who
frequented Sidd’s shop to
purchase supplies.

Tarnell
thrust out a hand. “You’re gonna get yourself stepped on,
sprawled out on the cobblestones like you are.”

Brydon
hesitated a moment before accepting Tarnell’s help. Though he was always talkative and friendly,
Brydon thought there was something about him that seemed incongruent—a
seriousness in his eyes that belied his jovial personality.

As
soon as Brydon was on his feet, Tarnell’s eyes grew
wide. “Oh, you're that nameless
boy! The one ol’ Sidd’s been raising.”

Brydon
clenched his teeth.

“Never did figure out who you were, did
they?" Tarnell shook his head, his
eyes filled with sympathy. “It’s such a
shame.” He patted Brydon’s shoulder and
turned to walk way. “Poor boy,” he
muttered to himself before ambling down the street.

Brydon
returned to the shop, a cramp forming in his clenched jaw. He grew tired of the stares and expressions
of pity by the townspeople. He grew
tired of their discrimination and judgments.
There were other orphans, other victims of the Great War who lost their
families, but there always seemed to be someone—a neighbor, a friend of the
family, even a distant relative—who could certify their identity with the
Registrar. He couldn’t speak of other places, but in the small
town of Faewynne it was only Brydon who was unknown. And without a family lineage he was
nothing. Worthless. He had less repute than the poorest of
servants.

He
quickly locked up the shop, anxious to know what was in the package. If the Lothrian man knew who is father was
then he needed to find him.

The
sun was dipping below the horizon as Brydon hurried through the streets toward
his home. The Turquoise and Cobalt moons
shone brightly overhead, illuminating the cobblestones at his feet. He turned down a narrow road toward the
northern edge of town and Sidd's property came into view. The plot of land was just large enough to
hold a single-level brick house, a barn for the two ponies, a field for the
ponies to graze in, and a vegetable garden.
Sidd wasn't a wealthy man, but selling merchandise and trade supplies at
his shop afforded him a comfortable income nonetheless.

The
house was dark and quiet when Brydon arrived.
Sidd had left that morning to pick up supplies from the traders in
nearby Warrandale and hadn’t yet
returned. Brydon crossed the room and
sat down on the edge of his bed. He lit
the lamp on top of his dresser and the bright flamed filled the room.

With
a mixture of nervousness and excitement, he reached into his tunic pocket and
pulled out the small package. Whatever
the item was inside, it was wrapped in old, faded leather and tied securely
with red twine. Brydon slid a small
knife out of his boot and used it to cut the cords. When he pulled apart the leather wrappings it
revealed a silver statuette and a narrow strip of inscribed parchment.

The
figurine was carved into the shape of a beautiful, winged dragon. A
dragon! Brydon froze. He knew the stories about the dragons. The legends.
How dragons had roamed the land for hundreds of years, as far back as
time began. They were the guardians of
the human clans and societies. But then
they fled during the Great War, abandoned the people in their hour of greatest
need, and nobody has seen one since.
They were now hated and despised, and the queen strictly prohibited any
talk of them. Not that such a law could
ever completely extinguish the whispers…

So
why would the Lothrian man give him such an abominable figurine? What did it mean? Hoping the parchment offered an explanation,
Brydon snatched it up. But the words
were written in a strange language. Even
the letters were unfamiliar. He flipped
it over and his eyes widened when he saw the imprint on the back. Sliding off his bed to the floor, Brydon
pulled a sword out from under the mattress.
It was old and discolored, with a curved blade and a hilt made of black
onyx. He had found the weapon years ago
while exploring the woods behind Sidd's property.

He
laid the sword across his bed. Carved
into the side of the blade, near the
cross guard, was an eagle facing forward with outstretched wings clasping the
top of a shield in its talons. A diamond-shaped
wreath of leaves encircled the eagle.
Although the imprint on the back of the vellum was worn and faded, it
was identical to the engraving on the sword—except for one tiny detail. The parchment had a majestic dragon on the
front of the shield. On the sword, that
dragon had been etched clean off.

Brydon
reached under his bed and pulled out a thick leather-bound tome. Flipping through the pages, his finger paused
on a passage describing the various cultures and societies of Rinaya. Though the Lothrians had their own
aristocracy, he found nothing written about them having a provincial symbol or
insignia.

He
picked the dragon statuette back up. The
oil lamp's flickering light leaped and danced along the dragon's scale-plated
body. Its eyes were closed as if it were
sleeping, its head resting on thick forearms.
Large, powerful hind legs curled underneath. The
creature's broad wings were tucked down close to its body, and a long, narrow
tail wrapped around and stopped short of its square jaw. There was something beautiful and majestic
about the small carving that made Brydon feel wistful. He was much too young to have remembered
seeing any of the dragons before the Great War.

Brydon
had set the statuette on his dresser and was placing his sword back under the
mattress when Sidd Mackley walked through the front door. Their eyes met and they nodded to each other,
and then Sidd sat down on a nearby stool to unlace his boots.

“What do you have there?” Sidd asked,
motioning toward the discarded leather wrappings and twine on the floor.

Brydon
grabbed the old leather tome and slid it carefully back under his bed. “A man came
into the shop today just before closing.
He said he knew my father and then he handed me that package.”

Sidd
snorted and set his boots down next to the door. "Maybe he thought you were someone
else."

"He
knew my name." Brydon held up the
parchment. "This was wrapped in the
package, but I can’t read the
words.”

Sidd
stood up and shuffled across the room toward Brydon. He inspected the vellum strip and shrugged
his shoulders. “Was that all he gave you?”

“No, but…”
Brydon sighed. He grabbed the
statuette off his dresser and handed it to Sidd. “Just—please don’t get upset—”

"It's
a dragon!" Sidd gasped and threw the figurine to the floor as though it
had bit his hand. "You need to get
rid of that, boy. I don't want that in
my house."

Brydon
stared at Sidd in surprise.

“I remember the dragons.” Sidd began pacing the room, casting angry
glances at the tiny statue. “There was one
that patrolled Faewynne, and we all felt safe knowing it was there. When the royal city was attacked, we thought
the dragon had left to defend the people.”
His hands clenched into fists. “Not
desert us...” Sidd stopped pacing and
faced Brydon. “If the Queen’s Guard knew
you had that, I shudder to think what they would do. Whoever that man was that gave that to you,
he is clearly trying to destroy us.”

“But why would—”

“Maybe he’s a trader that sells similar
supplies as us. Maybe he wants to expand
into Faewynne. There could be many
reasons for a stranger’s betrayal.”

But
Sidd’s words rang false in Brydon’s head. The Lothrian’s behavior was much too
circumspect, showing up at dusk, right before closing when the
shop was empty. He had even told Brydon
to open the package in private. And
surely it wasn’t a coincidence that the insignia on the
parchment matched the one on his old sword.
Besides, there were much easier and simpler ways of bringing a person to
ruin—just accuse them of using magic. By
the time the investigation was complete, the rumors would have spread halfway
across the province and it wouldn’t matter what the truth was.

Sidd
gestured toward the figurine. "At
first light tomorrow I want you to take that thing away from here and destroy
it."

Brydon
picked up the dragon from off the floor and placed it back on his dresser.

"You hear me, boy?"

* * *

The
sun was already setting when Annalasa rode her horse through the wrought-iron
gates of the Shadowsong Manor and into the courtyard. She was eager to strip out of her torn and
dirty riding clothes and wash the blood off her skin. She had spent the afternoon searching for the
injured sabrewolf, and though she had found its blood trail and twice heard it
struggling through the dense underbrush, it had still managed to evade
her. She had left the woods feeling
hungry, tired and defeated.

Keeping
to the shadows, she looped around the gardens and entered the lamp-lit stables
from the rear. She slid from the saddle
and handed Vashni’s reins to a
startled stablehand, who took in her bruised and battered appearance with wide
eyes. Waving away his concern, she
grabbed her bow and quiver and left the stables.

Annalasa
slipped into the manor through the back door to the kitchens and hurried toward
the servants’ staircase. She reached the second floor unseen and was
halfway down the hall to her room before her maid, Nema, found her.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” the
maid fretted. “Lord Voronn wanted to
speak with you. He said it was
urgent. But I—I didn’t know where you
were.” Her hands fluttered about. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Nema.” Annalasa gently grabbed the older woman’s
shoulders to help calm her fussing. “I
will see my father as soon as I’ve had a bath.”

“Of course, my dear.” Worry creased the maid’s face. “I’ll have some hot water brought up to your
room.”

An
hour later, Annalasa was clean and dry and dressed in a dark blue gown. She was brushing out her damp hair when Nema
knocked and entered the room.

“Lord Voronn is waiting for you in his
study,” the maid informed her.

Annalasa
set down the brush. “Thank you, Nema.” She donned a pair of slippers and left her
bedchamber to seek out her father.

Voronn’s study was on the third floor of the
manor, at the end of a long hallway lined with plush rugs and hanging
tapestries. Annalasa paused on the
threshold of the room. Her father was
standing with his back to her, staring out the window. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered for a
Lothrian, with long white hair and fierce blue eyes. Though he had always been kind and patient
toward his daughter, he was not a man to be trifled with.

“Father,” she spoke quietly.

Vorron
turned and met his daughter’s eyes. “Annalasa, I’m glad to see you home. Nema didn’t know where you had run off to, so
we had no idea when to expect your return.”

“Yes, about that...” Annalasa entered the study and plopped down
on a cushioned sofa. “I spent the
afternoon tracking a saberwolf in the forest—well, two of them actually, if you
can believe it. The Kothundr Mountains
must be a thousand miles from here!”

Voronn
narrowed his eyes. “So the rumors were correct.” He stepped away from the window and sat down
in a high-backed chair at his desk. “I
hope you were wise enough to not engage them.”

“It has nothing to do with trust.” Concern creased Voronn’s brow. “You are my heir, Anna, and it’s time you
start behaving as such. These forays
into the forest must stop.”

“You cannot be serious. You were the one that hired Roquenn to teach
me to use a bow.”

“Only so you would know how to protect
yourself. My intention was never for you
to spend your afternoons engaging in folly.
I’ve been much too lenient with you these past few years.”

Annalasa
glowered at her father. “You have never complained about me riding
in the forest before. Why now?”

Voronn
took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I didn’t plan on
speaking of this tonight, but maybe it’s
for the best.” He steepled his fingers and
leaned back in his chair. “I met with the Assembly of Elders
today. We spent several hours discussing
the governorship and succession, and the future of the province. We believe it is time to begin your
transition.”

Annalasa’s arms flew out to brace herself against
the sofa. “Now?”

“It would be a co-regency, of course, as I’m
still alive,” Voronn continued. “But you
are twenty years of age. It’s time that
we begin preparing you for this role.
The Elders are returning the day after next and I wish to present you to
them at that time. They would like to arrange for
your inauguration before the end of summer.”

“The end of summer!” she echoed. “That’s
barely two months away!” Her mind
churned and foamed like waves of the sea.
She was finding it difficult to process her father’s words. Her chest tightened and breathing grew
difficult. “This is so sudden…”

“I’m growing old, Anna. It is better that I pass the governorship to
you now while I’m still alive.”

“I know, but—please father,”
she begged. “I’m not ready.”

An expression of consternation crossed his face. He set his hands on the desk and leaned
forward. “You have known since you were a child that you would govern the
province. I never hid that from
you. Why are you taken aback by this?”

“It’s just—I didn’t expect this so soon.” Of course she’d known she would eventually
become the Lady Governess of Tir’Lothria, but that day had seemed distant and
far into the future. There were so many
things she wanted to do before settling into that role. As she thought how much her
life would have to change over the coming weeks and months, the walls of the
room seemed to close in on her. She
lowered her head into her hands and closed her eyes.

“There is no reason to feel overwhelmed,
Anna. You won’t be governing Tir’Lothria
alone—at least not for many years. The
Elders and I will be helping you, giving you guidance and direction.”

His
words did nothing to console her. “You don’t understand, father.” She lifted her head. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in
Shadowsong Manor.” Trapped, she thought bitterly. “I want to travel and see the world. I want to—” her throat constricted, cutting
off her words.

“But you are my only child. I have no other heirs.”

“It’s not my fault you never remarried and
had more children!”

Voronn
stared at his daughter for a long moment before responding. “What is it
you wish me to say?” He spread his
hands. “The circumstances are what they
are.”

“But I don’t want it, father!” She couldn’t stand the thought of having the
rest of her life decided for her.
As soon as the inauguration ceremony was complete, she would govern her
people until she was old and gray. No
exceptions. Her life would become a
monotonous drudge of meetings with the Elders, appointments with various
figureheads from across the province and a never ending slog of political
discussions. She would rather die than
be forced to endure such a life. Hot
tears welled in her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks.

Voronn
sighed. “Anna,
you—”

“I never asked to be born the daughter of
the Lord Governor of Tir’Lothria.”

“Children never get to choose their
parents.”

“What if I refuse?” She crossed her arms over her chest and
lifted her chin in defiance. “A leader
who doesn’t wish to lead would make a horrible leader anyway.”

Voronn
stood and pushed in his chair. “There is nothing more to discuss. This is how the leadership of our province
has been advancing for hundreds of years.
As my only heir, you will be the Lady
Governess. Yes, it is a great
responsibility, but it is also a great privilege and an honor. It would do you well to be a little more
grateful.” He
turned back toward the window.

Annalasa
knew the conversation was over. The
matter had been decided—with or without her approval. She jumped up and stormed out of the study,
slamming the door behind her. With a
tear-streaked face, she ran to her bedchamber and
threw herself on her bed, sobbing uncontrollably. She hated herself for crying. It made her feel weak and fragile, two traits
she absolutely loathed.

Everything in her room seemed to mock her. Her riding boots lay on the floor near her
wardrobe, reminding her of how she would no longer have use of them. Her bow was hung on a hook near her window,
laughing at her years of practice, a waste of time and skill. How foolish she had been to have spent her
days wandering the forest, learning to track and hunt as though she were a
forester’s daughter. Maybe if she had been the obedient child her
father had always wanted—if she had been diligent in her studies of government
and economics, had shadowed her father at his meetings—maybe then she would
feel ready for this new chapter in her life.

But she wasn’t an obedient
child. She hated everything that had to
do with the aristocracy—the politics and diplomacy and endless placating. Dark, angry clouds enveloped her mind. She loved her father, but she didn’t want his
life. She never had. Her emotions raged, causing her head to
ache. Roquenn was right when he had
called her a hoyden. How could someone
like her possibly lead the province? She
wasn’t built for that role. But what
choice did she have? She rolled over and
closed her eyes, letting the storm take her away.

She hadn’t
realized she’d fallen asleep until someone knocked on her door.

Nema poked her head inside the room. "Supper is ready," she said
softly. She stepped inside carrying a
tray of steaming food and set it on the table near her bed. “Lord
Voronn requested that I bring this up to you.
He said you are not feeling well.”
The maid hesitated, watching Annalasa with concern in her large brown
eyes.

“Thank you, Nema. Is there anything else?”

Nema wrung her hands nervously.
“Your father wishes to speak
with you again after you finish your meal.”

Nervous tension twisted Annalasa’s stomach. “Of
course. Thank you.”

Annalasa waited until she heard the door click shut before
grabbing the food tray. She ate slowly,
taking as long as she could before she returned to her father. She knew he was displeased with her. But what could he possibly want to discuss
now? When she could delay no longer, she
dragged herself from her bedroom and started toward the stairway that led to
the third floor.

As Annalasa approached her father’s study, she could see him bent over his desk, penning what
appeared to be a letter. He glanced up
as she entered. She stopped just past
the threshold, clasping her hands before her.
“Yes, father?”

Voronn pushed the papers aside and folded his hands on top of the
desk. “I have a proposition for you.”

Her eyebrows drew together.
“A proposition?”

He stared at her for a long while, his shrewd face softening with
each passing second.

Annalasa fought the urge to squirm.

“You have so much of your mother in you,”
he finally said, his voice wistful. “She
hated spending all of her time at the Manor.
She would beg me to leave the province in the hands of the Elders and
take her on an excursion, but I never did.
My duties kept me too busy. I’ve
never voiced this aloud, but I believe it was the reason for her failing health
and why she…” Voronn cleared his throat
and leaned back in his chair. “You were
born with that same wanderlust. It’s why
I’ve allowed you the freedoms I did, but it hasn’t been enough. I realize that now. All of this time you’ve still been tethered
to Shadowsong Manor.”

Annalasa
held her breath as a tentative ray of hope pierced her heart.

“I’d like to give you one year,” Voronn
continued. “One
year to live your life however you see fit.
You may leave the Manor, travel the kingdom, sail the seas—whatever your
heart desires. I’ll even give you a stipend
from the Treasury to cover your basic expenses, though any extravagances will
be your responsibility. Next summer,
before the trees change color, I except you to be ready for your inauguration
and you will then become the Lady Governess.”

Her father went on to discuss the particulars of her departure and
some of his expectations of her expedition, but Annalasa was barely
listening. Her body thrummed with
excitement. A year was a long time and
she could go anywhere she pleased. And
maybe after seeing the world she would be ready to settle into a life at the
manor, governing Tir’Lothria. But she didn’t have to worry about that
today. She had an adventure to plan!

Annalasa practically floated
back to her room. She grabbed her three
largest saddle bags and began stuffing them with clothing, supplies and her
most cherished possessions. She sifted
through her jewelry box and removed all of the valuable pieces, placing them in
a pocket on one of the bags. Her fingers
paused over a delicate silver-chain necklace with a sapphire pendant—the
necklace her mother wore when she was alive.
Annalasa snatched it up and fastened it around her neck. She exchanged her blue gown for a dark green
riding dress and sat on the edge of her bed to lace up her boots. Her father was allowing her to leave at
sunrise, and she wanted to waste no time getting ready in the morning. Besides, there would be no sleep for her this
night. Her nerves would make sure of
that. She stretched out on the top of
her bed and folded her hands behind her head.
All she had to do now was wait.

* * *

Brydon spent the morning helping Sidd unload the
supplies off the horse cart and onto shelves and hooks in the
mercantile. Once the chore was complete,
he took a walk toward the center of town.
It was the weekly holiday and all of the shops were closed. The cobblestone street was vacant, as most of
the townspeople spent the holiday with family and friends, eating large dinners
and catching up on much needed rest.

Brydon was never invited to any of these fancy holiday
meals. "It's not that the townspeople are rude," Sidd had
explained to him many years ago. "The proper introduction of guests is
important at these dinners, and it’s easier for everyone to
exclude you than risk the embarrassment of not knowing how to introduce someone
without Family or Name."

The words echoed in Brydon's head. He sat down on a bench in the empty market
square and pulled the dragon figurine out of his pocket. He had lied to Sidd. He couldn't bring himself to dispose of it as
Sidd had demanded. It had become too
important to him. It was a link to his
past, and if he could find the truth of his past he could find his
identity. That possibility inspired a
glimmer of hope within him.

He stared into the dragon's peaceful face. Seeing it in the sunlight, the finely
detailed features astonished him. It
would take an exceedingly talented blacksmith to sculpt silver with such
precision.

"Hello there!" came a loud voice over his shoulder.

Startled, Brydon quickly hid the dragon in his lap. When he turned around, he looked up into the
cold, hard face of a town guard.

Emileen Church

As an independent author, Emileen Church has been crafting stories since she was eleven years old. She currently resides in Lake Oswego, Oregon with her husband and two cats. She loves all things fantasy and wishes she could make Middle Earth her home. She also wishes she could have a pet dragon, but the condominium complex where she lives won't allow it.

Emileen is a 2014 National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) Contest Winner under the pen name Aerashanie.